


Obsessive behaviour

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of younger brothers, ill d'artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since d'Artagnan got hurt in a mission, Athos has been obsessed with training him. Athos has already let one brother die, he will not lose another one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsessive behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by some more of the prompts given to me by JEAikman who is great at getting rid of writer's block.

“That was weak; put some more effort into it. If this were a proper duel then you would be dead!”   
  
“I'm trying!”  
  
D'Artagnan gritted his teeth and parried the thrust Athos aimed at his chest. Since a mission in which d'Artagnan had been dealt a blow to the arm, requiring Aramis’ expert stitching, the older man had been relentless in personally seeing to d’Artagnan’s training. Now, d'Artagnan wasn't lacking in enthusiasm and commitment, but this was a bit much even for him and it ultimately wasn't doing him any favours.  By the time it was just he and Athos left he was far too tired to do more than merely defend himself.   
  
“Try harder!” Athos ordered. His sword clashed with d'Artagnan's and the young man could no longer find the strength to push back. Instead, Athos knocked him to the ground and scowled at him from above.   
  
“Get up and do it again.”  
  
“No.” D'Artagnan was tired and all he wanted was to go back home and sleep. Was that too much to ask?  
  
“How do you expect to stay alive with that sort of attitude?” Athos questioned gruffly, offering a hand to d'Artagnan when the young man made no move to get up.  
  
D'Artagnan took the offered hand but instead of moving into a battle position like Athos wanted, he sheathed his sword.  All the while, Athos eyed his movements, disapproval clear on his face.   
  
“What do you think you're doing?”  
  
'I told you, I'm done. It’s late, I'm not going to be able to learn anything now; we’ve been working all day with hardly any breaks. I just want to go home.”  
  
“You need to train in order to survive, the day is still young,” Athos insisted, glancing at the sky which, contrary to his statement, was turning a red hue.

“We can train again tomorrow, but honestly Athos, ever since our last mission you've been acting differently. I understand that I need to practice but I'm hardly defenceless! It was barely a scratch that I got.”

“It still required stitching, and you say this now, but what if next time it is not merely a cut? What if it is a sword to the chest, a mortal wound that could have been prevented if you were more skilled? It is my duty to make sure that that doesn't happen,” Athos argued.

“And it won't! Now I'm going home Athos, nothing you can say will stop me.”

Athos' lips pursed into a thin line and though he was clearly annoyed, he let d'Artagnan leave. However, despite d'Artagnan's plea for Athos to let up with the training, nothing changed over the proceeding days. Athos still kept him behind when Porthos and Aramis considered themselves done for the day and every time d'Artagnan failed to block and got hit, Athos would be even more vigorous.

D'Artagnan was tired. Both physically and with Athos' eccentric behaviour. He found himself hoping the king called for them soon just so that Athos would be distracted from his mission to make d’Artagnan a flawless fighter.

The last straw came three days after the minor confrontation. Athos was, as usual, pushing d'Artagnan to his limits, and the young Gascon, in true stubborn male fashion, had failed to inform Athos of an illness he had woken with that morning. It had likely arisen after they had sparred in the rain the previous day.  As it was, d’Artagnan was struggling to merely keep his eyes open as he blocked thrust after thrust of Athos’ sword. Eventually, he lost the battle with his body, and after a particularly hard jab, he fell to the ground.

Athos, who thought there was nothing wrong, made an impatient noise and told d’Artagnan to get up. Except unlike all the times he had told the boy to do so previously, this time he did not. Confused and more than a little worried, Athos asked him again and when he saw that d’Artagnan’s eyes were closed and his breathing was harsh and rattled, he fell to his knees, discarding his sword.

 "D’Artagnan?” He called and his eyes grew wide when he saw how pale the Gascon was. He also seemed thinner, as if he hadn’t been eating enough and it was with a growing sickness that he realised how truly hard he had been working the boy. Somehow, in the mind-set of making sure d’Artagnan was well trained enough that he wouldn’t get hurt again, _that he wouldn’t share the same fate as Thomas_ , he had failed to notice how he himself had been treating him. He had pushed d’Artagnan far too much, and now d’Artagnan was paying for his blind-sightedness.

The self-imposed guilt trip could wait though, Athos decided. He first had to make sure d’Artagnan was in bed, warm, and fed soon. The boy was sick and as this was Athos’ fault, he had to make sure he recovered. His mouth set in a grim line, Athos picked d’Artagnan, _too light, far too light,_ and carried him to the Bonacieux’s which was fortunately not far away. 

The moment Constance saw him; she immediately hurried him into d’Artagnan’s room so that he could put the Gascon in his bed while she made him some soup. She didn’t ask what had happened, for that Athos was grateful, but she did give him disapproving glances which suggested she knew what he had been putting d’Artagnan through the past week. Oh how oblivious he had been. Why hadn’t he listened to d’Artagnan earlier? Then perhaps this all could have been prevented.    

Thankfully, d’Artagnan was not unconscious for long but the rough coughing fit he went through upon awaking sent pangs of guilt running through Athos. Seconds later, as if attuned to her lodger’s needs, Constance brought d’Artagnan some soup for him to eat with the command that he eat all of it lest she spoon feed him herself. She then left Athos alone with d’Artagnan, sensing that they needed to talk. 

“I’m sorry,” Athos said, not wasting any time with hesitation or indecision. D’Artagnan took a spoonful of his soup and gave a light shrug. 

“You don’t have to apologise, I know I’m not as good as you want me to be.”

Oh dear lord, the boy thought he was disappointed with him. That was the opposite of how he felt. He knew he had been abrasive, but he had secretly been truly proud of how quickly d’Artagnan was improving.

“You are a perfectly good fighter. Inexperienced yes, but you’re young. That will come in time, and already you are much better than you were when you first arrived in Paris,” Athos said and d’Artagnan looked at him with confusion.

“You’re acting very differently again Athos. First you say I am not a good fighter and need to be trained; now you are saying the opposite. Which is it?” 

Athos struggled to think of the words to answer d’Artagnan’s question. “I’ll admit that I might have been a bit harsh with you the past week or so and I am sorry for that. It’s just…I don’t like to see you hurt, and I got it into my mind if I kept training you then that would prevent it. I now realise that it was a stupid thought, and you were in more danger from me than anything else. I should have listened to you earlier, but I couldn’t see past my own desire to make sure you stayed safe.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” d’Artagnan quickly asked, noticing how self-loathing Athos’ speech had turned. “But I have to ask, why? You don’t act like this when Porthos or Aramis is wounded? Do you think I cannot take care of myself?”

D’Artagnan had it all wrong, and Athos knew the only way he could explain himself to d’Artagnan was tell him the truth, he deserved as much after everything Athos had put him through.

“No, that is not what I think,” he admitted, “however, when you were hurt I couldn’t help but think of my younger brother, Thomas. It is my fault he died and I always wondered what would have happened had I trained him more, taught him better. You remind me of him, for should he still be alive I believe you would be about the same age. Like you he was as stubborn as anything, but he was a good man with a pure heart. He looked up to me, much as I believe you do, however foolishly, and I let him down. I did not protect him as I should have. I couldn’t allow myself to lose another brother, though I see now that it is true that I only hurt those I care about. I understand if you never wish to see me again.”

To Athos’ utter shock, d’Artagnan began to smile. It wasn’t mocking, nor was it pitying. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think Athos? Though at least I understand why you were acting the way you were. You shouldn’t blame yourself for Thomas’ death.”

Athos gave d’Artagnan a grim smile. “Why not? It was my fault d’Artagnan. I couldn’t protect him. He had so much potential, and I failed as an older brother.”

D’Artagnan was silent, as if he were steeling himself for something. “I had a younger brother too,” he eventually said, so softly that Athos nearly missed it. “He was five years younger than me, Mathieu. One year, the winter was brutal and my brother and I were sent out to get food, I was fifteen, Mathieu was ten. We had almost made it home when we were attacked. I survived, my brother did not. I wasn’t able to save him from them. Does that mean I failed?”

“No, of course not, it was the attackers fault,” Athos immediately responded.  Though the question was posed to prove a point, Athos could still easily detect the guilt d’Artagnan still felt over his brother’s death. A guilt he could fully empathise with. Out of the things he thought d’Artagnan would say, that was not one of them. He never knew the Gascon had a sibling, though with how tight-lipped he was about his own past, he couldn’t judge d’Artagnan for keeping silent.

“Then your brother’s death does not mean you failed,” d’Artagnan reinforced with a slightly pained smile. Athos tried to believe him, for he was absolutely certain that d’Artagnan should bear no guilt for his own brother’s death, but it was easier said than done. Though he would try.

“You ought to get some rest,” Athos said, once the silence had become a bit too stifling. 

“Wait, Athos,” d’Artagnan grabbed onto Athos’ sleeve, halting his movement. “I know it might be an odd thing to say, considering, but thank you. Thank you for telling me about Thomas, I know it must have been hard. And thank you for…caring.” 

Athos gave d’Artagnan a small smile. “And thank you for speaking about your own brother. It seems we all have our past grievances. What matters is how we act after them.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Why Athos, that was a positively hopeful statement. Are you feeling well?” 

With a snort, Athos lightly cuffed d’Artagnan around the head before placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tightly. “Get some rest; you’ve earned it, little brother.” The phrase slipped out without warning, but Athos found he didn’t mind, especially when d’Artagnan’s grin widened.

“You too, brother.”


End file.
